


The Line Never Ends

by MusingsOnBuckyBarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Car Sex, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Wedding, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6632008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusingsOnBuckyBarnes/pseuds/MusingsOnBuckyBarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s fitting that Steve and Bucky reunite at a train station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set very soon after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier.
> 
> If you want to see the location of the reunion, it is here (or you can have a look during or after reading the fic, whichever you would prefer):  
> http://press.visitphilly.com/uploads/photos/2332_l.jpg
> 
> There will be sex scenes in Part 2, but they are not gone into in detail

 

 

xXx

 

His wounds had healed. The shock still went right down to Steve’s bones, to his soul.

 

Bucky was alive.

 

He was out there somewhere. And Steve had to find him.

 

Steve and Sam were waiting for translations of the Russian Winter Soldier file. In the meantime, they were using the resources at their disposal to check leads.

 

Steve had gone to New York on his motorcycle to check out some possible sightings of Bucky in Brooklyn. Perhaps he had been getting his memories back and was revisiting his past. Steve took his shield with him, disguised in a carrier that looked like a large portfolio case, strapped to his back. He searched their old haunts in hope.

 

But the trip turned out to be a dead end.

 

So Steve reluctantly turned around and headed for DC, but traffic and tiredness made him stop in Philadelphia overnight, staying at a Holiday Inn. He stripped down to his t-shirt and underwear, went to bed and wondered how long it would take before a nightmare woke him.

 

Bad dreams didn’t disturb him though, because he couldn’t drop off to sleep. Instead he lay there and agonized over everything.

 

What could Bucky remember? What was he feeling? Would he try to go back to Hydra? Had his injuries healed? Did he hate Steve?

 

And if he did hate Steve, was it because he believed they were enemies due to the brainwashing, or was it because Steve had failed to save him on the train?

 

Yet when Steve had plunged into the Potomac, Bucky had saved him. It had been confirmed by footage taken by a news helicopter.

 

Steve’s phone beeped with a text. The distraction was almost a relief, until he saw that it was from an unknown number.

 

A message: _Meet here_ _now_

 

And a location.

 

It was only about ten minutes away. A train station, the 30th Street Station.

 

Then he read exactly _where_ at the station the rendezvous spot was and bolted for the door, grabbing his keys on the way. He was halfway outside before he realized that he needed his jeans and shoes.

 

xXx

 

Philly’s 30th Street Station was open 24 hours a day (including its McDonalds). It was a stop on the “Northeast Corridor” of Boston to Washington DC, which was the busiest passenger rail line in the US. 

 

It was also one of the most gorgeous stations, a grand old temple of transport style that was just not made anymore. The front of the building had a portico with huge Corinthian columns.

 

Steve’s artistic side loved this place: its design, decorations and sculptures (even the light fittings were beautiful), and under normal circumstances he would be gazing and taking reference photos and sitting down to avidly sketch while hoping not to be recognized.

 

But he couldn’t take it in now. He searched, looking for what – who – he really wanted to see.

 

Since it was now late at night, the station wasn’t as hectic. Steve walked through the immense Art Deco main waiting room. It too had towering pillars in its concourse.

 

Steve approached the meeting point, in front of a row of the pillars.

 

The location was a statue. The Angel of the Resurrection.

 

He knew it was no coincidence that it commemorated World War II.

 

It was a bronze sculpture, on a scale as grand as the station. It towered up from a huge black marble plinth.

 

_Please be here._

 

Steve was still about fifteen feet from the statue when Bucky stepped out from behind its base.

 

Buck stood there for a few seconds, watching him. He was in jeans, a t-shirt, jacket and boots. No visible weapons. There was a glove concealing his metal hand.

 

It _was_ Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. Steve could see it in his eyes. No murderous rage or blankness. Instead there was hesitation, relief and hope.

 

Steve had halted, not sure whether he should keep moving forward or not. Bucky walked slowly towards him. Steve moved too, at the same pace, until finally Bucky stopped when they were only a few feet apart.  Bucky was very pale. But he said, “Hey,” as if they were meeting in pre-WW2 Brooklyn on their way home from work.

 

Steve said his name. Bucky didn’t reply, but looked him up and down, scrutinizing. It wasn’t checking his target for weak spots; instead it was a familiar gesture, checking for any injuries after a street brawl or a WW2 fight with Hydra. Or in this case, injuries that Bucky’s brainwashed self had inflicted on him.

 

Steve conducted a similar visual check.

 

“You didn’t bring along any back-up.” The tone in Bucky’s voice was possibly exasperation. “I suppose I should be grateful that you did bring your shield.” His eyes slid to the carrier strapped to Steve’s back.

 

“I brought it along to protect us, if needed. Not for protection from you. When I realized where the location was, I knew it was you. Not the soldier. And that I wouldn’t need any back-up.”

 

Bucky’s expression was now _definitely_ exasperation. “You’re an idiot.”

 

Steve nearly grinned at the familiarity of that, from so long ago. “ _You’re_ the one who picked Philadelphia. As you once said, _‘Seriously, Jersey?’_ ” He then wondered if that was something that Bucky would even remember.

 

But after a brief pause there was a wry smile and Buck said, “You’re right, I did.”

 

There was no press of people around them but they were still talking in whispers. Steve prayed that no one would recognize him and interrupt. This was their time, just the two of them. They’d earned it.  

 

And this was an appropriate place to reunite, seeing as a train was where they had been forcibly parted so long ago.

 

“Are you all right, Buck?”

 

“I went to the Smithsonian.”

 

 _Oh…_ “How much do you remember?”

 

“A lot about us before…before I fell. Then bits and pieces. Some things more than others.”

 

Bucky turned a little to look over and up at the statue. So did Steve. The artist had portrayed the figure of Archangel Michael lifting a dead soldier from the flames of war.

 

“You did that,” Bucky said, gesturing to it.

 

Steve stared at him, not sure exactly what he meant. Did Bucky think that he was the sculptor? Or was he talking about –

 

Bucky elaborated, “That’s you, saving me from…” He struggled for a few seconds. “…a living death.”

 

Steve knew that people interpreted art differently. Bucky, even after all he had gone through, wasn’t seeing it as death; he was seeing it as life.

 

“You broke the programming and stopped me from hurting anyone else. You made me remember,” Bucky continued.

 

Feeling choked up, Steve managed to say, “And that’s also _you_ , saving me. Raising me up out of the river.”

 

Bucky looked startled at that. He turned to the image again. Matching in with the columns, it was very vertical. Even the Archangel’s wings were not spread out horizontally – they were unfurled but at the very upstroke of their beat, almost touching above Michael’s head.

 

“There was a man like that… He was on the helicarrier. I tore one of his wings – then I threw him off…” Bucky looked horrified and went even paler.

 

So thank God Steve could say, “Bucky, he’s alive! He’s still alive. That’s my friend Sam. He’s been helping me to look for you. He knows that you were brainwashed when you did that to him.”

 

“I still killed a lot of other people.”

 

“Not willingly. Otherwise I’d be arresting you.”

 

There was a pause. Bucky looked a bit unsteady and exhausted. Steve was tensed in case he needed to get him over to a bench as fast as possible.

 

A woman walked close by them to have a look at the statue, gazing at the names on the plinth of the Pennsylvania Railroad employees who had died in WW2. Steve and Bucky edged away. Bucky didn’t flinch or protest about Steve guiding him with a hand on his arm, which was just as well as Steve knew he should have given him some warning first. But it was as if the decades had burned away and he had done so without thinking.

 

“Come on, you need some food and sleep.”

 

“The McDonalds?” Bucky suggested mockingly. “It’s still open! This may be the future, but I’m not that cheap a date.”

 

“Let’s find something and take it back to the hotel.”

 

Bucky hesitated. “I’m not the same guy anymore. Not the Bucky you used to know.”

 

“When I found you at Azzano, neither of us were who we used to be,” Steve pointed out. “At heart we were the boys from Brooklyn but so much had changed. You were a soldier, you’d seen front-line action and horrors, and you were a prisoner of war.”

 

He wasn’t the only one whose mind turned back to WW2. Bucky said, “And you showed up: having had a ‘slight growth spurt’, with more muscles than a prize bull, turned into a tights-wearing actor and showgirl and national icon.” 

 

“Exactly. It took us some time to adjust, to get used to what had happened to ourselves and to each other. But we did it. We supported each other, we led the Howlies. Before…just before we got on that train to capture Zola, we were joking together just like we used to back in Brooklyn.”

 

“They broke me.” Bucky’s voice was a whisper. Before Steve could apologize for failing him, Bucky continued in a louder, determined tone: “I am not going to _stay_ broken. I’m not going to let them win anymore.”

 

“Good.”

 

They hugged. Steve wasn’t sure who made the first move, but it was probably both of them at once, with that in-sync behavior they had often shared.

 

Steve shut his eyes, breathed, gave a prayer of thanks, and opened his eyes to gaze at the statue. It was a beautiful and moving sight – now, even more so.

 

The soldier in the Archangel’s arms was slumped, facing away from Michael, dead, but free of further suffering. Michael was raising him up to Heaven.

 

Bucky was in Steve’s arms, facing him, holding him, and his heart was thumping against Steve’s chest. They were both taking their first steps towards healing and peace.

  
xXx

 

The hotel room was a single, but there was no discussion about one of them sleeping on the sofa or the floor.

 

When they woke up a few hours later they were lying in the middle of the bed, in a tight hold, but it certainly wasn’t a choke hold. It was more of a joint, subconscious ‘must reassure self and each other that you are here’ horizontal hug. And it also felt so damn good.

 

Bucky mumbled, “Sorry,” and went to move away. Steve discovered his own bravery went deeper than he thought when he managed to say:

 

“Don’t be sorry; I’m not. This is really nice. But I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

 

“Well, we know that you don’t have morning breath.” That was something they’d discovered over seventy years ago when out on long missions and curled up close for warmth.

 

“And neither do you now.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Chalk up something good for super soldier serums then, even the knock-off versions.”

 

The humor diffused the awkwardness. They didn’t disentangle from their hold and instead went back to sleep.

 

When a nightmare woke them, Steve and Bucky couldn’t even be sure whose it was – they were both blurting out reassurances to each other and not letting go in a hurry.

 

xXx

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are sex scenes in this part, but they are not gone into in detail.
> 
> I’m not sure who came up with the term ‘face-o-mesh’ for the disguise Natasha uses in The Winter Soldier, but I’m borrowing that here. 
> 
> Characters in this part: Steve, Bucky, Female OC, cameos from Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Thor and a few others

 

xXx

 

Bucky pursued his recovery with an intensity worthy of the Winter Soldier. He was making up for lost time. “Fall down nine times, but get up ten. It may take me a little while, but I will always get up. And if I can’t do it by myself –”

 

“You know I’ll help you up,” Steve said. And he did, through the nightmares and bad days and everything. Bucky was as steadfast as him when Steve’s own mental burdens surfaced.

 

They had, and would continue to have, a lot of therapy. A dietician helped Bucky to retrain his appetite and get his metabolism going again. For the first few months he slept for twelve to sixteen hours a day. As he regained his energy and self, he became less withdrawn, remembering how to feel properly again and that he wouldn’t be punished for it. Bucky got to know and trust the other Avengers and their friends and to be trusted by them.

 

Then there was the matter of revealing to the public that Bucky Barnes had been found and that he had been the brainwashed Winter Soldier. Pepper swung into action. It ended up helping that there was already some key information out there: the news helicopter footage of the Winter Soldier saving Steve from the river and the documents that had been released onto the internet by Natasha. Those, and interviews with the Avengers about Bucky (especially those with Steve and Tony), helped the majority of the public to accept that Bucky had been a victim of Hydra.  

 

Bucky and Steve had found their way back to each other again, and learned these new versions of each other. The versions evolved again: becoming happier, healthier, less anxious, cleansing each other of guilt. And eventually, the soulmates crossed over into lovers.

 

xXx

 

Having no morning breath wasn’t the only bonus of being a super soldier, Steve found.

 

Stamina was another. Very handy when making up for lost time. And in keeping a smile on Bucky’s face.

 

Then there was the ‘forgetting of one’s own strength’. Steve’s bed at Avengers Tower had a wrought iron headboard. Some of the decorative iron bars ran vertically up the frame, and Steve found they were great to reach back and grab hold of while Bucky was exploring his body.

 

A while later, they were dozing contentedly in each other’s arms, then Bucky shifted, stretched and raised his head. “Um, Steve, did those look like that before…?”

 

“Huh?” Steve followed his gaze and saw that two of the posts were no longer straight lines. They were a bit kinked and twisted and had grip marks on them. “Oh…”

 

Bucky chuckled. “So now they’re modern art. Don’t look so sheepish. At least you didn’t accidentally pull them right out and hit one of us in the process. That would have killed the mood.”

 

“Tony had better not find out.”

 

“Why not? It should be in an exhibition. The title card would read: ‘ _9.30pm Orgasm_ by Steve Rogers, with assistance from James Buchanan Barnes. Subtitle: _First of Four’._ ”

 

Steve would have hit him with a pillow but he was too busy laughing to manage it.

 

xXx

 

30th Street Station:

 

Sachiko sighed. A jet-setting lifestyle was not what it was cracked up to be. As if having to catch a train at stupid-o-clock wasn’t bad enough, now it was delayed. Oh well, she could sit in this gargantuan waiting room and watch cute cat videos on her phone.

 

On her way back from the bathroom, Sachiko walked past the sculpture _Spirit of Transportation_ , which included horses. She supposed that things could be worse – she could have been back in the Wild West, waiting for a wagon or stagecoach to arrive.

 

It was time to try to get comfortable and see the best in distractions that the internet could muster. Sachiko was not going to spend the time doing any work – she’d already put in more than enough hours today and knew her presentation backwards. Even so, she still got nervous when she had to speak in public, no matter how many times she did it.

 

As she settled on a bench, she noticed that a section of the room at the _Angel of the Resurrection_ statue was being cordoned off. She put her phone down in her lap and watched. Perhaps it was for a movie or TV show shoot. A scene from the movie _Witness_ had been filmed here – even though she hadn’t watched it for years, she still remembered how effective it had been as a setting.

 

There were a few people with cameras and a video camera, but there didn’t seem to be enough equipment for it to be a full movie shoot. Perhaps just a photo shoot?

 

Then she realized that it must be a wedding. There were some people in very expensive-looking and beautiful clothing, complete with fancy boutonnieres, and a few of the women had bouquets and elaborate hairstyles. Some of the people looked a bit familiar but she couldn’t quite place them. No sign of the bride yet, unless the bride had chosen not to wear a white or elaborate gown.

 

Sachiko heard someone say, “Trust her to find us accessories that matched this ceiling! Or that matched To-”

 

She couldn’t hear the rest of the name or word. Sachiko looked up and saw two white men in suits, whose ties and breast pocket handkerchiefs were indeed in red, gold and cream patterns like on the coffered ceiling, though instead of square shapes, the ties had little stars and stripes. She smiled at the coordination – it did look great. And so did those two guys. One had blond hair, the other dark brown. Groom and best man, presumably. They were beautifully muscular, glowing with health, and as they stared at each other they were glowing with love too.

 

_Oh. Oh!_ There was no bride. These were the grooms, plural.

 

They were standing very close to each other, near the statue, and they were holding hands. The blond guy had a neatly trimmed beard. The other groom’s hair was very mussed on top; artfully styled bed hair. Their friends were buzzing around, getting ready, and the grooms were chatting to them, laughing, then turning to smile at each other: sometimes softly, sometimes with huge grins that made her heart sing and her ovaries clang relentlessly.

 

_Steady on there…_ She blamed the lack of sleep.

 

It was like a beautiful people convention.  All the men were incredibly muscular too. Then it was time for the ceremony. A man with piercing brown eyes kept making joking comments and got a few elbows in the ribs from women on either side of him. He was also wearing red, gold and cream accessories, including a cravat. A giant of a man nearby was also bursting out with cheering and exclamations.

 

There were not a huge amount of guests. It was a small and intimate ceremony. Sachiko wondered why the men were getting married at such an hour of the night, but perhaps since they wanted to hold the ceremony here, they must have wanted a time that would not be at peak hour.  

 

As the grooms made their vows, she didn’t get to hear their names, but she did get to hear something about ‘…til the end of the line’, which was pretty appropriate for their surroundings.

 

Their kiss made her feel weak at the knees.

 

Well, she may have had to hang around a train station at all hours, but at least she had been given a lovely distraction as compensation.  She didn’t bother looking up any cute cat videos.

 

Afterwards, they had photos, group and otherwise, in front of the statue. She thought Archangel Michael lifting a dead soldier from a battlefield was a bit of a grim background for a wedding scene, even thought it was a beautiful work of art, but perhaps these men were veterans. When the grooms were alone in front of it, they turned and looked up at the angel while holding each other. She was almost tempted to take a photo but decided not to; it felt too private. Then one of the other men was cajoled into posing by himself in front of the statue.

 

She wondered why. Everyone else had been in groups or pairs.

 

He was a black man with an afro (and the groomal party requisites of great looks and impressive musculature) and had an infectious smile. Why did he look familiar? Sachiko wracked her brain but she was too tired.

 

The next morning, her mind finally supplied the answer while she was waiting to give her presentation. That man had been the Falcon.

 

Like finding the key piece in a jigsaw puzzle, the entire thing suddenly fell into place.

 

The man in the cravat who had been making jokes…that had been Tony Stark. Iron Man. Clean-shaven and crew-cut, which had thrown her off. And the others…

 

She had witnessed an Avengers wedding. She had just seen Captain America get married to his right-hand man from the 1940s.

 

With a big smile, Sachiko got up and made a perfect delivery of her presentation.

 

xXx

 

‘Til the end of the line’, they had said, but it would never end. They had defeated brainwashing, Hydra, and time itself to be here together.

 

The reception was held in a function room at the nearby exclusive Rittenhouse Hotel (at Tony’s insistence). Thor had brought along some Asgardian mead, but Steve and Bucky hadn’t had any. “I want a clear head to start my honeymoon off correctly,” Steve said.

 

The noisy and fun celebration was still going by the time that the grooms headed off (at which point Tony was using his own cravat as some sort of a belly dancing veil while gloating that Captain America had used Iron Man’s colors of red and gold to get married in).

 

It was dawn by the time that Steve was driving himself and Bucky to their first honeymoon destination, which wasn’t far. Tony had offered a chauffeur, but Steve had felt wide-awake. They had been sleeping during the day and staying up during the night for the last few weeks, to get their body clocks adapted for this.

 

Steve had managed to talk Stark out of tying a heap of tin cans on strings to the back of their car or adding a huge JUST MARRIED sign, pointing out the earliness of the hour and the desire for secrecy.

 

Bucky said, “I still can’t believe that Tony shaved!”

 

“Well, he did say it was time for a change. Pepper said it would be nice to kiss him without beard burn. And it will confuse the media, at least for a little while.”

 

Same with Natasha showing up as a brunette with a 1920s-style bob, Sam having grown a full beard (Tony: “Hey, give that back!”) and an afro, Thor also clean-shaven and his long hair gone, and various other little appearance tweaks to allow them to hopefully have a peaceful ceremony. What had also helped was that things had been fairly quiet lately, meaning that the Avengers hadn’t had to go rushing around, saving the day, so their new looks had been kept under wraps.

 

Or some had used wigs, make-up or the ‘face-o-mesh’ to alter their appearances (Barton had used the latter to disguise the bruises he had received from a recent alleyway fight and Phil Coulson had used one too, because even though he was supposedly dead, there was no way he was missing THIS). Bucky’s hair had been cut at the back and sides but left wild on top. Pepper showed up as a blonde, and she had located the material to make their ties and handkerchiefs match in with the station ceiling while still managing that patriotic flavor.  The wedding had been like a fancy dress party. (And Nick Fury had sent a coded telegram of congratulations.)

 

From JARVIS’s monitoring of the internet, the news had not broken yet. It was bound to soon, but for now, Steve and Bucky were just enjoying the peace.

 

Steve thought about the differences between the last time he and Bucky had been standing in front of the _Angel of the Resurrection_ and earlier tonight: Bucky in front of him, this time more present, not pale, definitely clear-eyed, happy and healthy. Tony had created a covering for his left hand that had made it look like it was a flesh one.

 

“I still can’t believe we’re actually married…” Steve said.

 

Bucky gave a dazed nod.

 

Their honeymoon getaway was a lovely and large private Philly residence. They would stay there for a few days, then go on a road trip, then overseas.

 

Steve pulled into the garage, turned off the car, and activated the button to close the garage door. They could go straight through into the house from there. But Bucky, apart from undoing his seat belt, was making no move to leave the car.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing. Just felt like getting a bit frisky in here first.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Any objections?”

 

Steve checked to make sure that the garage door was now completely shut. It was. “Well, this is the city of brotherly love.”

 

“I don’t exactly feel very brotherly towards you anymore. That’s why I married you!”

 

“Let’s do it then. We’re not getting any younger. Should we get into the back seat?”

 

But from the impatient look on Bucky’s face, that just seemed so damn far away. “I want to get my hands on you right _now_.”

 

“Wait.” Steve fumbled down and managed to find the seat adjustment lever. Within a few seconds he had slid the driver’s seat as far back from the steering wheel as it could go, giving them a lot more room for shenanigans. “How’s that? And we can –”

 

“Bless modern cars!” Bucky said and then he was over the gear console and on top of his husband before Steve could find or inform Bucky about the lever that could alter the head and back rests. Steve gave up on those, deciding that they had enough room and that he did not want to take his hands off Bucky again anyway.

 

They got their pesky clothes out of the way, or as much as needed.

 

At least they were in private and it was their car, so they wouldn’t lose a rental deposit. Steve then stopped thinking sensibly. And started feeling explosively as they thoroughly consummated their marriage.

 

Things got so vigorous that at the end they somehow set off the airbags. All of them. It was startling to go from bone and soul melting bliss to suddenly being in the middle of an intense, high-stakes pillow fight where the pillows felt like they had been fired out of cannons from almost point-blank range. Or that they had been ambushed by giant ninja marshmallows.

 

Then there was silence, apart from heavy breathing.

 

Squashed up against him, Bucky enquired, “Is this what they mean these days by safe sex?”

 

“Yeah, or the car is trying to devour us.”

 

Bucky laughed. “In the old days, the main worries were setting off the car horn or knocking the brake…”

 

“I hope we can get this fixed without any of the others finding out!”

  
“If not, we’ll just add it to the exhibition, next to the headboard. Title: _Super Soldier Honeymoon Consummation_.”  


At least the garage door button hadn’t been activated again during the last little while to reveal the comedy of errors and semi-naked super soldiers to the public. They managed to extricate themselves from the car and get into the house. They did eventually make it to the bed, after a shower and a snack that was eaten while they wore nothing but boxer shorts, rings and smiles.

 

At the bedside, Steve stopped and said, “Oh, the ‘carry the bride over the threshold’ bit. I forgot about that.”

 

“Never mind; we can do that when we get home. And we’ll have to flip a coin to see who gets to be the bride anyway.”

 

“Or one of us can carry the other into the apartment, then swap over to carry the other into the bedroom.”

 

“You’re so good at tactical thinking.”

 

“Speaking of the bedroom…” Steve lay down on the bed, slid over, and gave Bucky the ‘come hither’ eyes, accompanied by patting the mattress.

 

When Bucky joined him, Steve gathered him in his arms, leaned in close and said intently, “With my body, I thee worship….” before passionately setting about doing precisely that.

 

xXx

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> With huge thanks to Cathy for betaing and for giving me the idea in the first place. She isn’t in the Captain America fandom, but when I got into it she listened to my email ramblings about my new onscreen boyfriends with great patience and interest. (We met in the Hornblower fandom and have a habit of falling for the fascinating so-called-sidekicks.) Then I said to her that when I write a Steve/Bucky story, I must send them on a trip to Philadelphia, where she lives. 
> 
> I soon got a reply: “About Bucky and Steve visiting Philadelphia, believe it or not I have a serious idea to offer you for that.” 
> 
> Cathy told me about the statue and why she thought it would be a perfect metaphor for Steve and Bucky and sent me photo links, and as soon as I read her ideas and looked at the sculpture, I knew she was right and the story started to take shape.
> 
> The Angel of the Resurrection was sculptured in the early 1950s by Walker Hancock. Here are some images of it:
> 
> http://press.visitphilly.com/uploads/photos/2332_l.jpg
> 
> http://www.newsworks.org/images/stories/flexicontent/m_wwii_memorial_20140206_1074170235.jpg
> 
> The Spirit of Transportation sculpture is from 1895 by Karl Bitter.
> 
> Thank you also to Suzi for name help and to Faye & Cathy for beta reading services.


End file.
